Thunderbird
by Gemini Star01
Summary: America and Canada's fishing trip is intrupted by a fierce storm, which traps them in the mountains. What's worse, there's something waiting for them out there in the rain, an ancient peice of their history thought long dead. And it's coming for them...
1. Prologue

Just a quick three-shot I'm de-anoning from the Hetalia Kink Meme. The prompt was "something involving America, Canada and the legendary Thunderbird.

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything involving Hetalia, nor do I own the Thunderbird. Enjoy._

**Thunderbird**

**Prologue**

The grand bird flew high on the wind, thermal heat rising beneath her wings. Below her, her current territory – a lush forest in the south-eastern corner of Oregon – stretched as far as the eye could see. There was a lake not too far away, full of fish for her, her mate and their newly-hatched young, and the air carried just a bit of the salt from the distant ocean breeze. Truly, it was a wild paradise, and she was its queen.

A whistle punctuated the air, loud and true: One long note, followed by two pairs of shorter ones, with an octave jumped in-between. The eagle responded to the call instantly, diving through the air to the place where she had been summoned. It was a slow dive for her – barely 75 miles an hour – but it was fast enough to get her where she needed to be. At the last moment, she killed her speed, flared her wings and landed on the outstretched arm of her summoner.

"Hey there, Liberty," America chuckled, rewarding the bird with a sardine. "That's my good girl, I knew you were around here somewhere."

Liberty cawed and snapped up the treat with delight. Her claws gripped her perch more tightly, only the heavy leather shields protecting the sensitive limb beneath. She stood almost three feet tall, with an equally large wingspan, and was heavy enough than the average falconer wouldn't have been able to support her for long. But, of course, the United States of America was not your average falconer.

"I can't believe you actually managed to train a bald eagle," Canada said, with just a hint of awe at being so close to the majestic, wild creature.

"Hey, it's not like it was that hard," America shrugged, feeding Liberty another fish. "No different than your polar bear."

Canada frowned, picking his aforementioned fuzzy friend up off the ground. "But Kumajiro's not wild."

"Neither is Liberty. Not with me," America stroked the proud white plumage that adorned the bird's head, making soothing clicking noises with his tongue. "Isn't that right, girl?"

Liberty nuzzled his hand and gave the fourth finger an affectionate nip. Alfred smiled, offering up another sardine, which was readily accepted.

A clap of thunder echoed overhead. The North American brothers turned their heads towards the sound, faced with the rolling wall of purple-black storm clouds closing in fast from the horizon.

"Uh-oh," Canada said. "Looks like her relatives are getting testy."

"Sure does," America said, stroking the eagle's beak. "You better get back to your nest, Liberty ol' girl. Freedom and the chicks are gonna need you to watch out for them while the storm's raging."

As though she understood his words – and for all Canada knew, maybe she really did – Liberty took to the air. She rose twenty feet above them and came to a stop, hovering in a lazy circle.

"Ah! I almost forgot!" America yelped, popping open the ice chest that contained the fruits of their brotherly-bonding fishing weekend. He shifted through the ice until he dug out a decent-sized trout – one of his own catches – and held it up with both hands. "For your chicks. You make sure those kids grow big and strong, you got that?"

Liberty swooped down and snatched the fish with her talons, cawing her thanks. With a few strong, graceful flaps, she rose into the increasingly turbulent air and bore the offering away to her nest, where her family awaited.

America grinned after her until she was only a speck, slamming the ice chest closed and hoisting it back into his arms. "Okay," he said to his brother. "Let's get moving before we get soaked."

_**TBC…**_


	2. Thunderbird

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything involving Hetalia, nor do I own the Thunderbird. Enjoy._

**Thunderbird**

"Shit," America swore, then followed it up with another. _"Shit."_

He twisted the key in the ignition once more, only to get the same result. The old Jeep Cherokee growled at him like a cornered animal, sputtered, and died before the engine could turn over. The headlights flashed in the dark, gleaming off the rain and through the trees, before fading away with the engine.

Canada glanced at his brother nervously from the passenger seat. "What's wrong with it?"

"We must have gotten some water in the engine," America muttered, shoving back in his seat and slamming his hands against the steering wheel. "Dammit! Now what do we do?"

Canada glanced out the window anxiously. The rain had caught up with them before they'd managed to get back to camp, and it had been a wet job to get everything that wasn't already packed up into the car. Now the storm was raging, the forest was pitch black, water was rushing down through their former campsite, and they couldn't start their car.

"We can't just sit here," he said slowly.

"We can't leave," Alfred continued his twin's train of thought, pouting over the top of the steering wheel. "Car's the safest place during a thunder storm. Even if it is dead."

"Then we've got to call for help."

America sighed, giving up his pride for a moment to admit his brother had a point. He dug into the pocket of his bomber jacket and pulled out his cell phone. The glow of the little screen cut through the darkness like a knife, and he swore again under his breath.

"Not even a _hint_ of signal," he muttered, shoving it back. "What about you?"

Canada flipped open his own phone and shook his head. "No such luck."

"Damn. Can you reach the emergency radio? It should be in the back, under the seat."

Canada nodded, set Kumajiro on the dashboard and unbuckled his seat belt. As he leaned up on his knees to crane around into the back, an odd sound found its way to his ear: a low rattling, like a baby's toy, only deeper and louder. He glanced back. "Did you try to start the car again?"

"No," America frowned. "Why?"

"I thought I heard something," Canada trailed off, then shrugged. "Never mind. Probably just the wind."

After a moment of fumbling, he pulled out the small blue device and passed it to America. Alfred propped the box up in his lap, turned the hand crank to charge it up, and started cycling through the channels, rattling off their twenty at regular intervals and calling for any assistance they could get.

Canada settled back into his seat and tried to relax, but the grinding hiss of the radio's static did nothing to calm his nerves. He hoisted Kumajiro back into his lap and held the bear close. There was an uneasy feeling gnawing at his gut and spreading slowly throughout his body like grasping tendrils of inexplicable fear.

Finally, America gave up, hanging up the radio with a sigh. "Nothing. Can't get a single clear signal at all. The rain must be blocking the signal."

"So we're stuck here."

"Looks like it."

Canada groaned, sinking back into his chair. He barely had time to close his eyes before he heard the sound again: the deep, bone-shattering rumble, closer than before and even more chilling. Kumajiro buried his eyes in Canada's arm.

"Alfred?" the northern nation asked. "Do you hear that?"

"Now I do," America said slowly. "What _is_ that?"

"I don't have a clue."

It came again, shaking the frame of the car right down to the wheels. America swallowed. His mind immediately leapt to ghosts and demons, but he wouldn't let himself believe that. They were in enough trouble at the moment, dammit, they didn't need creepy stuff like that! There had to be a reasonable answer.

"It…It kinda sounds like a rattler."

"In this area?"

America didn't answer, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were turning white. Unwillingly, Canada looked to the window, out into the darkness of the storm. His violent eyes widened in horror.

"Alfred?"

"Yeah, Matt?"

"There's something moving out there."

America's eyes swiveled around to the window. "It's…It's just water, isn't it?"

"Al," Matt's voice sounded weak, ending with a nervous squeak. "Water doesn't run _uphill_."

_BAM!_

The front of the car jumped a full foot in the air, as though a bomb had gone off underneath the tires. Canada screamed, scrambling to keep a hold of the panicked Kumajiro. America made a strangled noise, almost choking on his own tongue, and slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. Predictably, it did nothing.

_BAM! _

The second strike was harder, faster. The entire car jumped, sliding back into the mud and digging the rear tires deep into a sticky prison. The rattling grew louder.

"What the hell?! What the hell?!" America squawked, pushing as far back into the seat as he could.

"Something's ramming the car!" Canada cried, half hysterical.

"Something like _what_? An _elephant?!" _

Whatever it was, it struck them hard one final time – _KER-BAM!_ – and finally sent the car flying into the air. The twins screamed and grabbed for each other. Their lives flashed before their eyes seconds before the car landed roof with a sickening _crunch. _

For a long while, the forest was silent – even the odd rattling had faded away into nothing. Then the sound of breaking glass rang through the night. America had pulled a hammer from his glove compartment and smashed the window. He pulled himself out the broken window, scrambling for a hold on the slick earth. He sat up, turned on a penlight, and groaned. "Jesus Christ. You okay Mattie?"

"I'm fine," his brother sighed, sliding out after him with a limp polar bear in tow. "What about you?"

"I'm okay."

"No you're not."

"And how would you know?"

"This isn't my blood, Al."

America blinked, surprised by the dark stain on his brother's shoulder. The headache hit a moment later, sending a bolt of pain down the length of his spinal cord. His hands snapped to his forehead, dropping the flashlight. "Aw, _shit!"_

"Just take it easy," Canada soothed, setting Kumajiro aside and fishing the penlight out of the mud. "Let me see."

As Canada examined the jagged cut across his brother's hairline, America glanced at the very limp-looking polar bear. "Is _he_ okay?"

"I think he fainted."

"Some bear," America chuckled, and yelped when Canada prodded the open wound. "Ow!"

"Sorry!"

"S'okay," America muttered, rubbing his head. "Jeez…what the hell happened, anyway?"

"I'm not sure." Satisfied that his brother was at least well enough to make it out of this situation alive, Canada turned the penlight to the dark, rainy forest around them. "A second ago, I could've sworn I saw…"

A crush of thunder echoed through the night, followed quickly by the brief illumination of a lightning bolt. Canada gasped and choked on the sound. America jerked around so fast he nearly passed out from the surge of pain. "What is it?"

"I don't know," Canada whimpered, terrified. "Just look."

America looked.

Black scales glistened in the beam of the flashlight, smooth and solid over a convex wall eight feet high. The wall shifted and moved around them, sliding through the mud as easily as a boat over the surface of the lake. If there was a beginning or an end to its length, they couldn't see it. It just kept moving around them, circling them, ensnaring them.

Canada grabbed America's hand and held on with all his might. America returned the gesture, pulling his little brother close and never taking his eyes off the so-called 'wall.' "My god," he whispered, breathless with shock. "It's a snake."

"_Not just any ssssssssnake…"_

The words were not in English. It was an old tongue, or rather, a blending of old tongues, languages that once ran as naturally from their lips as melted snow from the mountains. The voice slid from vowel to vowel with an ever-present hiss, echoing through their ears like a dragon in its cave. The rattling started up again, shaking them to the bone.

Slowly, the huge snake turned to them, its head lifted from the mud to gaze down from two stories above. Eyes of molten gold as big as the nations' heads shown like beacons even in the weak beam of the flashlight. A huge, forked tongue darted in an out of a mouth large enough to swallow their stranded Jeep in one gulp. On his head rested a pair of great horns, reminiscent of a longhorn steer, adorned with a diamond crest.

He was magnificent. He was terrifying. He was after their blood.

They both knew his name. But only Canada could find the voice to speak it: _"Unktehila."_

"No way."

Canada jerked slightly at his brother's voice. America's wavering tone was the only hint that he was in a near-panic, actively denying the proof that was right in front of them, because admitting it would be accepting something they couldn't believe to be true. "It's not possible. It's not. There aren't any Unktehila anymore, there can't be. The Thunderbirds –"

"_Ssssssssilence!"_

The great snake slammed his rattling tail against the ground, splattering mud across the jeep's grill like fake blood in an overdone horror movie. Canada grabbed America's arm, and Alfred swallowed his words before they could be realized. The snake's molten eyes glared at them through the dark like headlights, cutting through even the pouring rain that drowned out everything else.

"_White devilssss," _he hissed, huge tongue licking at the air. His breath was putrid, smelling of a hundred half-rotted corpses festering on the banks of a swamp. It was so pungent, so foul that, had they been anything but nations, it would have killed them in their tracks. "_I've waited sssso long to tassssste your blood."_

"This isn't happening," Canada said in numb disbelief, pressing back against the ruined car. "This isn't happening, this isn't happening, oh god, America, what do we do?"

America shook his head. It had been years – centuries – since anyone had addressed them so coldly. His hand groped through the mind, creeping behind him and into the broken window of the jeep.

"Why?" he asked the creature, determined to keep him talking. "Why hunt us? We've never done anything to you."

"_I once-ssss had people, people who worshipped me, revered me and honored me," _said the snake. _ "But you ssssstole them from me, jussssst like all the otherssss. Your kind, they came, bringing you demonssss with them. You've sssstolen our landssss. Our homesssss."_

The brothers shared a guilty glance. They couldn't deny it, nor would they wish to. To forget such things would be like forgetting their own history; and such a thing was nothing less than a crime against themselves and their people. _All _of their people.

"_The otherssssss may have sssssstood by and ssssssupported your ssssssubversionssss, but I will not be ssssso weak. Your kind hasss no place-ssss here."_

"Unktehila, please," Canada begged, trying to soothe the beast's rage. "We didn't just come. The two of us, we were born here, of the land, just like you. The Great Spirit wouldn't have put us here if our people weren't meant to –"

"_Yooooouuuu LIE!"_

The great snake reared back, threw his mouth open wide, and struck. Moments before he hit them, America yanked his fishing rod out of the car and hurled it into the snake's mouth like a javelin. It stabbed into the soft skin at the back of his throat, and the snake reared back with a screech.

"Run, Mattie, run!"

Canada leapt at his brother's words, snatching the still-unconscious Kumajiro from the ground. The twins scrambled away from the writhing head of the snake and headed for the tail, the end of the snake and freedom. Canada swept the flashlight across their path until he finally found an opening.

"This way!" he called, racing for the gap. His feet slid across the ground, and he struggled to keep a hold on both Kumajiro and the flashlight. The Unktehila's fowl breath burned the hair on the back of his neck, hissing and snarling as the fishing pole was finally dislodged, flying into the dark. He would be upon them again soon, but if they could just make it out of his coil, they could make a run for it and then…and then…

"Mattie, watch out!"

Canada stumbled forward, tripping over his own feet as America shoved him from behind. As the northern nation fell, he twisted around, just in time to see the Unktehila's huge rattle of a tail slam into his brother, throwing America thirty feet into the trunk of a tree that nearly snapped with the force of the blow. America tumbled to the ground like a rag doll and lay limp.

"_Alfred!"_

Canada dropped the penlight and raced to his fallen brother's side. The wound on America's forehead had opened further, dark blood dripping from it in thick streams. It ran down the side of his face, staining it like a half-mask, and blurred his vision even more than his broken glasses.

"Oh god," Canada gasped, sinking to the ground and scooping his twin into his arms. "Alfred, say something. Speak to me, Al!"

"Mattie," America muttered, his head lulling against his brother's shoulder. "Run, Mattie…run…"

"Not without you," Canada insisted, clinging to his brother and choking on a sob. "I'm not going anywhere without you, Al. You gotta stay with me, you gotta get up, Al, please."

"Mattie…"

"I'm not leaving you here!"

"_Sssssweet." _

The Unktehila slithered to them, his head held high and his voice was slightly raspy from America's attack on his throat. Canada instinctively pulled his injured brother close. Kumajiro, finally stirring from his panicked faint, snarled savagely at the creature that threatened his master.

The snake was practically grinning. _"Nice-sssss try."_

With that, he craned his head back, popped his jaw open and dove. But before he could swallow them both whole, a crack of thunder echoed through the night, followed by the mountain-shattering screech of a bird of prey.

Canada, who had curled around America in a desperate attempt to protect his twin in their last moments, cracked his eyes open hesitantly. Directly above them, a huge raptor with brilliantly colorful plumage and an onyx-black beak tore into the snake with two-foot-long talons. Thunder rumbled every time it beat its massive wings, and lightning flashed in its eyes. It screeched again, and the sound echoed for miles, the vibrations from its cacophony blending with the thunder to throw the Unktehila to the ground.

"Mattie?" America asked weakly, squinting at the two huge combatants through the rain. "Is…Is that what I think it is, or am I hallucinating?"

"No, no, I see it too," Canada assured, a little flutter of hope in his voice. "It's a thunderbird, Al. A real thunderbird! And it…it saved us."

The thunderbird called again, its shriek a million times louder than the ones they'd heard from Liberty only hours before. It tore into the Unktehila with his beak, slicing across the silver ring markings that spiraled from the edge of his head. Earthy black blood indistinguishable from the mud poured from the wounds like maple syrup from a bucket, and the Unktehila jerked away with a violent hiss.

Neither of the combatants attempted to speak, at least, not in any way that the twins could understand. The snake lunged at the thunderbird with a vicious snap of fangs, but the raptor barely had to flap his wings to shoot out of his opponent's reach. It circled around the snake with a few thunderous claps, slashing at it every chance it got and never taking anything in return.

"…Awesome."

"No kidding," Canada sighed, pressing his sweatshirt to the wound on America's forehead. "And thank god."

Finally, with one less thunderous clap, the thunderbird raked its beak across the seventh band on the Unktehila's back. The great snake reared back with a wordless shriek of pain, which echoed over the rain into the dark night. Then, like a tree sawed away from its roots, it fell backwards and tumbled to the ground. The resulting wave of mud swept Kumajiro back into Canada's lap and left the twins soaked through with water and mud, but neither found that they cared.

The Unktehila lay dead, and the thunderbird landed on its still form to claim its victory. It gazed down at the twins like a proud grandfather, setting his plumage around him like a coat. Once he was comfortable, he spread one wing over the brothers, guarding them from the rain until the storm finally died down.

As the sun began to poke through the clouds, Canada turned away from double-checking the first-aid on America's wound and smiled at their savior. "Thank you."

"_My pleasure."_

Something in his gleaming, golden eyes was familiar to them – hauntingly so. America realized it first, and his eyes widened at the very thought. "Sioux?"

The thunderbird smiled with his eyes, just before he and the body of his defeated opponent vanished once more into the night.


	3. Epilogue

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything involving Hetalia, nor do I own the Thunderbird. Enjoy._

**Thunderbird**

**Epilogue**

"What the bloody hell happened to you two?!"

America and Canada shared a knowing Look as England fretted over their ruined car, America's head injury and their incredibly nonchalant attitudes about the situation.

"You two go gallivanting out into the woods for the weekend and get yourselves caught up in the bloody storm of the century!" the Briton exclaimed, his face turning a strange shade of purple with what they could only assume was worry. "And then, instead of doing something _sensible_ and waiting until you could call for help, you try driving back in that bloody rain and _flip your blasted car!_ You're lucky you didn't crack your skulls open!"

"Hey," America said, pointing to his bandaged-wrapped forehead. "A little close for comfort there, Iggy."

England sputtered at that, his mouth snapping closed so quickly that his teeth clattered together. He was so busy trying to come up with an excuse for his careless words that he didn't notice the odd way America's consonants slid from one to the other like the rustling wind. It was an accent he had not carried since he was a child, when he was first learning to speak English. It was an ancient accent that belonged to ancient words and sounded strange on the modern syllables of his imported tongue.

France was taking the whole thing much better than his old rival. As England ranted, raved and fussed, he had busied himself by making sure that the twins were, indeed, all in one piece and not in need of drastic measures. America, of course, would need a stop by the hospital and a few stitches to make sure his wound healed properly, but he had a hard head and was bound to be fine.

At the moment, the Frenchman's attention was on the younger twin, and it was not a gaze of concern. Rather, he seemed curious, scrutinizing, leaning close to examine Canada's face in a way that very nearly violated his personal space.

"Mathieu," he said slowly, running a finger through the mud that painted his former colony's cheek. "What is this you have tied in your hair?"

Canada glanced at the two feathers – gifts from Liberty and her mate, Freedom – that America had weaved into his hair. From there his gaze drifted up, to the make-shift nest on the low tree branch where they had laid the fish. They had salvaged the offering from the wreckage and cooked it over a campfire while waiting for their former guardians to find their location. Both twins could still taste the old words of the ancient song they had sung together clinging to their tongues like cobwebs brushed from their long-hidden memories.

It had been a long time since they'd paid tribute to their 'ancestors' – to the native tribes that had come before, the ones who had protected and cared for them when their European guardians returned across the sea – but they had not forgotten the words.

France watched them very carefully, one thin eyebrow quirking up towards his hairline. "Just what were you boys doing out here, anyway?"

As one, the twins shrugged. "Just getting back to our roots."

Somewhere high above, an eagle let out a mighty caw.

_**End.**_


End file.
